The King's Secret Matter (44 page)

He stood at the windows but he did not see the scenes below; he leaned his heated head against the rich velvet hangings, as he glanced round the room, at the tapestries and pictures, at the exquisite furniture which he had so treasured.

In the pocket of his gown was the communication he had received from the King. The Lady Anne, it seemed, had set her heart on York Place. She would have no other house in London. Therefore the King asked the Cardinal to offer this up to her.

Hampton Court . . . and now York Place! One by one his treasures were being stripped from him. Thus it would be until he had nothing left to give but his life. Would they be content to leave him that?

He knew that a Bill of Indictment had been registered against him; he knew the hour could not be long delayed when Norfolk and Suffolk would arrive to demand that he give up the Great Seal.

The days of greatness were over. The fight for survival had begun.

He did not have long to wait. Smug, smiling, like dogs who had at last been thrown the titbits for which they had been begging, Norfolk and Suffolk arrived to demand the delivering up of the Great Seal.

He received them with dignity in the beautiful hall, surrounded by rich treasures which he must soon surrender. His dignity was still with him.

‘I would see the King's handwriting on this demand,' said Wolsey, ‘for how may I know you come at his command if I do not?'

Norfolk and Suffolk flushed and looked at each other. Neither was noted for his quick wits. Then Suffolk spluttered:
‘You know full well that we come on the King's command.'

‘How should I know, when there is no written order from him?'

‘Then is it a surprise to you that you should be asked to hand back the Seal?'

‘This is not a question of my emotions, my lords, but of your authority to take the Seal from me. I shall not give it to you unless you bring me a written order from the King.'

The Dukes were angry but they had never been able to argue successfully with Wolsey.

‘Come,' said Suffolk, ‘we will return in a very short time with what he demands.'

And they left him. It would be a short time, Wolsey knew. But there was a small hope within him. The King had not wished to put his name to a demand for the Great Seal. He had turned his back on Wolsey, but at least he had not joined the pack who were waiting to tear the old minister to pieces.

The Cardinal was in great terror. It was not the fact that Norfolk and Suffolk had returned to take the Seal from him, with a written command from the King. That, he had known, was inevitable. It was not that he was ordered to leave York Place for Esher, an empty house which belonged to his bishopric of Winchester. It was the knowledge that his physician had been taken to the Tower where he might be put to the question, and betray secrets which could mean disaster to Wolsey if they were ever told to the King.

He had been desperate. He had seen disaster coming and had sought to win back all he had lost in one desperate throw. His enemy was Anne Boleyn and he had determined to be rid
of her, knowing that if he could do this, he could quickly win back the King's regard.

As a Cardinal he was in a position to have direct communication with the Pope, and he had made use of his advantages by advising the Pope to insist that the King send Anne from the Court or face excommunication. This had seemed to him to offer a solution of his troubles, because if the King dismissed Anne he, Wolsey, would very quickly return to his old position. If the King did not dismiss Anne but defied the Pope, Wolsey calculated that opinion in the country would be split; the situation would be dangerous for England; and the King would quickly realise that there was only one man strong enough to save the country from disaster; that man was Wolsey.

This had been his plan, and it had been made not for the good of the country, not for the good of the King, but for the salvation of Wolsey.

He had failed in his attempt; yet it was not that failure which disturbed him, but the knowledge that his weak physician may have confessed this secret and that the King might soon be aware of what he had done.

What hope would there be for him then? Banishment to Esher! It would not end there.

The grim shadow of the Tower lay before him; he could see himself walking from his prison with the executioner beside him and the blade of the axe turned towards him.

Now outside York Place and all along the banks of the river the people were assembling; craft of all description crowded the river. It was a holiday for them. They believed they were gathering to watch Wolsey on his way to the Tower.

He would pass out of York Place with all the pomp and
ceremony with which he had been wont to make his journey from Hampton to Westminster. There would no longer be the Great Seal to proclaim him Chancellor. But he still had his Cardinal's hat and his magnificently attired entourage. He would have his fool beside him, his cooks and stewards, his ushers and secretaries, as though the journey from York Place to Esher was no different from many another journey he had taken.

But he felt sick and weary. Thomas Cromwell was with him, and Cromwell's dejection was clear to see. Was he mourning for the downfall of a friend, or asking himself what effect the loss of an influential benefactor would have? Who could say? And what did it matter now?

So out of York Place he came to take a barge for Putney. Soon they would be counting the treasures there, and delightedly laying before the King and the Lady the lists of valuables, the costly booty. York Place was following Hampton Court; and Esher lay before him, an empty house where he would endeavour to keep his state until perhaps he was called to an even less comfortable lodging.

He was making up his mind what he would do. There were two courses open to him. It was no use appealing to Parliament, which was under the influence of Norfolk; but he could take his case to the law courts. There he had a fair chance of winning, because he was still the wiliest statesman in the land. But it would never do to win. The King would never forgive that. There was one object which he must keep in mind; one preoccupation which must be his to the exclusion of all else. He must keep his head upon his shoulders. He knew what he must do. He would admit that he had incurred a
præmunire
and he would ask the King, in payment for his sins, to take all that he possessed.

He smiled wryly, thinking of those bright blue eyes alight with acquisitiveness. While Henry studied the lists of possessions which would fall into his eager hands he might spare a little kindness for his one-time Chancellor and favourite minister. He might say: ‘Good Thomas, he always knew what would please me best.'

Disembarking at Putney he continued his journey away from the glories of the past into the frightening unknown future. The people watched him sullenly. This was an occasion for which they had long waited.

‘His next journey will be to the Tower!' they cried.

And some raised their voices, because there was now no need to fear: ‘To the scaffold with the butcher's cur!'

But as he rode through the muddy streets on his way to Esher he was met by Sir Henry Norris, the young man who had given him a lodging at Grafton.

He was moved by the sight of the young man, and he found that he could be touched more deeply by discovering that there were some in the world who did not hate him than by anything else. He realised that, apart from that little family which he kept shut away from his public life and of whom during the last busy years he had seen very little, he had tender thoughts for no one and had used all who came within his orbit in the manner in which they could serve him best. Therefore a sign of friendship from any of these people seemed a marvellous thing.

Thus with Norris. But it was more than his friendship that Norris had to offer on this day.

‘Your Eminence,' he said, ‘I come from the King. He sent you this as a token of the friendship which he still feels towards you in memory of the past.'

Norris was holding out a ring which Wolsey had seen many times on the King's finger, and when he recognised it the tears began to fall down the Cardinal's cheeks. There had been some true friendship between them then. He had been more than a wily minister to his King.

If I could but reach him, thought Wolsey. Oh Lord, give me one half hour alone with him and I will make him listen to me and share my opinions. There was never ill-feeling between us that was not engendered by that black night-crow. Give me a chance to talk to him . . .

But it was too late. Or was it? Here was the ring . . . the token of friendship.

He must show his gratitude to this young man, so he dismounted and embraced Norris; then he knelt in the mud to give thanks to God because his King had sent him a token of friendship. He could not remove his hat easily because the ribbon was too tightly tied, so he tore the ribbon and knelt bareheaded while Norris looked on embarrassed, and the crowds watched in bewilderment.

The Cardinal had no thought for them. Henry had sent him a token, and with the token – hope.

He gave Norris an amulet – a gold cross and chain – and, wondering what gift he could send to the King which would convey the depth of his gratitude, he saw his Fool standing by and he called to him.

‘Go with Sir Henry Norris to the King,' he said, ‘and serve him as you have served me.'

The Fool looked at him with mournful eyes and shook his head.

‘What means this?' asked Wolsey. ‘It is better to serve a King than a Cardinal; did you not know that, Fool?'

He was expecting some merry retort, but none came. Instead the man said: ‘I serve none but my master.'

And as he stood there, his satin robes spattered with the mud of the streets, the ring warm on his finger, the Cardinal was once more astonished to find that he who had cared for nothing but ambition had yet found one or two who would serve him for love.

‘You are indeed a fool,' he said.

‘The Cardinal's Fool, not the King's Fool,' was the answer.

Wolsey signed to him to go, but the Fool knelt and clung to the red satin robes until it was necessary to call six yeomen to drag him protesting away.

The strangeness of that street scene, thought Wolsey, as he rode on to Esher, will remain with me for as long as I live.

In the manor house at Esher there were neither beds, cups, cooking utensils nor sheets.

Wolsey entered the hall and stared about him in dismay at the emptiness. His servants gathered round him wonderingly. Thomas Cromwell moved towards an embrasure and looked out of the window, his eyes alert, his trap-like mouth tight. What now? he was asking himself. Need the end of Thomas Wolsey be the end of Thomas Cromwell?

The Cardinal asked that all his servants should be brought into the hall, and there he addressed them.

‘As you see, we have come to a house which is empty of food and furniture. We must bestir ourselves and borrow for the needs of myself and one or two servants. For the rest of you, I advise you to return to your homes. It may well be that in three or four weeks I shall have cleared myself of the charges
which are being brought against me; then I shall return to power and call you back to me. Now you must go for, as you see, you cannot stay here.'

Across that room the eyes of Cromwell met those of Wolsey.

Cromwell took five pounds in gold from his purse and said: ‘There are many among us who owe what they have to the Cardinal. There was a time when great blessings flowed from him. Now we see him stripped of his possessions, his home this manor in which there is nowhere to lay his head. It is my hope that many here will follow my example and add to this sum, so that some comfort may be bought for His Eminence during the time which may elapse before he returns to favour.'

And before the Cardinal's astonished eyes certain members of his household came forward and laid what sums of money they could afford beside that set down by Cromwell.

Then his servants busied themselves and went out to borrow beds and cooking utensils from neighbouring houses; and there was activity in the manor of Esher.